Wealday, Sarenith 15 (afternoon)

We have permanently shuttered Zyrxog’s operations in this city, and along with that, permanently shuttered Zyrxog.

They had been busy. In addition to directing the gang of dopplegangers, they were buying and selling rare items and artifacts on the black market. We found a ledger detailing every transaction, conveniently including names, dates, and amounts for each. For a being known for it’s supposed high intelligence, maintaining such meticulous records openly in undercommon—it’s rare, but far from unheard of—seems like poor thinking. Obviously, even criminal organizations need to keep business records, but most of those are smart enough to use a combination of code names and shorthand so they aren’t so damned obvious. But if Zyrxog wanted to make this all easier on us, then I was all for it.

On at least one occasion, Zyrxog’s two activities intersected. They sold something called the Apostolic Scrolls to one Loris Raknian, and shortly thereafter received a down payment from the same person to have a troublesome group of kids from Diamond Lake assassinated.

That would be us.

Based on the date, this request was made while we were en route to Korvosa. The timing there is just too good to be anything other than a response to our little stunt with the Ebon Triad, which means Raknian is mixed up in all of that, too.

We don’t know Raknian, but we’ve been seeing the name pretty much everywhere since we got here because he’s the organizer of the annual Champion’s Games. So, we have once again managed to draw the ire of an influential, high-profile, public figure. It’s not a good habit to get into. And unlike Smenk and Dourstone, we have the additional complication that Raknian is well-liked and fairly popular. It’s going to take more evidence than his name written in a ledger to take action against him.

But that was drama for later. We had other drama to deal with now.

When we went toe-to-toe with Zyrxog, they had a prisoner with them that they were preparing to, I dunno, de-brain, or whatever you want to call it. That prisoner turned out to be a bounty hunter named Cress, and he had been looking for a number of former slaves who had escaped from Kaer Maga, except instead of bringing them back he had been tasked with…making sure they were safe. Or rather, it had started out as the former, but somehow turned into the latter thanks to the interventions of a sorcerer and a powerful, magical compulsion. Snagsby, it seems, was the last person on the list.

Snagsby doesn’t talk much about his past, but it’s an open secret that he had been a slave in Kaer Maga and had managed to get away. It goes without saying that, given this history, we’re all somewhat protective of him so there wasn’t a lot of trust for the story Cress was selling. Snagsby’s half-orc heritage is subtle, so Cress didn’t realize Snagsby was standing right in front of him, and none of us were too keen on helping out. But, ultimately, it was Snagsby’s decision to reveal himself, and so he did.

Cress’s response was immediate as the compulsion broke. “For the first time in two years I’m free!”

Well, good for you, then.

We destroyed a few things on our way out. There was a pool filled with what looked like tadpoles but were almost certainly young mind flayers. They had to go. The pool itself was infused with magic that radiated a sort of dread, so that had to go, too. Vandalism doesn’t typically make Abadar’s list of approved activities, but it felt like this was an exception. And then Zyrxog’s library had a vrock, of all things, in some sort of suspended animation as a kind of alarm system, and it was really pissed when we triggered it. So that had to go, as well (I am sure it would have been just as happy to tear Zyrxog apart at being used like this, but we had already seen to that).

With all that done, it was time to leave. We led Cress and the other prisoners back up the surface and now we’re hanging back at the Crooked House.

And if anyone needs me, I’ll be taking a nap.

Wealday, Sarenith 15 (mid-day)

Our prisoner said we’d find their village just past the cave with the naga. And, yes, that naga. And I’ll go ahead and point out the obvious: the drow managed to come and go without getting into a fight with it.

It was a huge chamber, easily 40 feet high, just as deep and half again as wide with passages leading out in multiple directions. A large shelf sat halfway up on one end, leading back to chambers that were obviously sleeping quarters, while the main area at ground level functioned as a kind of communal space. It held livestock—a cow and a couple of pigs—in a wooden pen.

After their disastrous raid on the warehouse, they were only a dozen or so drow left, and they poured out of every passage and recess to engage us with their bows. This was obviously intolerable, so I asked Viktor to enlarge me and I stepped into the middle of the fray, horsechopper at the ready. There was not a single drow that wasn’t within my reach, and that put a significant dent in their plans. Clearly, no one had explained to them the concept of “defense in depth”. Things only got worse when Varin followed it up with a blinding burst of glittering, gold dust. At that point, our archers had such an advantage that the end was inevitable.

One of the passages had a barred door guarded by zombies, and this was where they were keeping prisoners they had abducted from the city above. So if you were feeling bad about how easily we wiped out this little colony, let that put your concerns to bed. The zombies were even less of a challenge for us, though they were sufficient to keep four terrified captives from escaping.

“That thing comes in here every so often, drags one of us off, and they never come back,” one of the women said. “It’s a hideous monster.”

“With a squid-like face?” I asked.

“Yes.”

There were never more than six prisoners in there at any one time. Every few days someone new would appear, and someone would be taken away, Those taken never returned.

“When did it last come in here?” Zhog asked.

“Not long ago. Maybe an hour or so.”

It wasn’t necessarily safe for them to try and make their way out on their own, but they couldn’t wait forever for us if something happened, so we gave them food, our map of the sewer, and the key to the lock.

“Give us an hour,” I said. “If we aren’t back by then, make your way to the surface.”

We pressed on. In the next cavern, the tentacle theme continued as we were ambushed by what looked like walking octopi. There were too many to fight all at once, especially since their gaze made us sluggish, so we withdrew down the passage to a choke point. They obliged by being both aggressive and dumb, leaving a superior tactical position to make it easier for us to pick them off one at a time. (Though I did have to occasionally move up and play the role of bait to keep them from losing interest. Now who was being dumb?)

And then things got weird. That cavern had a pair of white marble doors built into one side with veins of a purple, glowing mineral running through them, flanked by a pair ivory columns. Snagsby reshaped the stone so we could force them open, and it revealed a circular chamber with a giant brain carved out of the same, purple-veined marble. Snagsby tried to enter and he said is mind was immediately assaulted by some overwhelming mental pressure to bow to the will of Zyxog the Master (three guesses who that is). He resisted, but not without cost: he stumbled back out of the room somewhat dulled by the experience.

Stone benches and manacles lined the chamber, suggesting that this was used to break the wills of victims. Viktor guessed that, with the rapid onslaught, it would just be a matter of time before someone succumbed to it, so we spent a lot of time debating what to do. Which spells might protect us from the effect, which ones might not be likely to help, and so on. It was all very dull and exhausting. Eventually, I pointed out that I have a large hammer on the end of a long pole, and the effect  from the brain didn’t seem to reach past the doors.

“Just enlarge me,” I said “and I’ll bash it to pieces from here. I won’t even have to enter the room.”

This worked, albeit slowly because the positioning was awkward. But the operative word in there is “worked”, and after a few good hits the magic failed and no more giant brain. While it was satisfying and effective, it was also pretty loud so no more element of surprise. But that was assuming we even had it to begin with.

Now we’re holed up in what looks like Zyxog’s personal lab and study. It’s filled with dry technical books on various boring subjects, as well as piles of research notes that the others are pouring over. Apparently it created the ocotpus things and called them “octopin”, and it was researching creating a parasite it called “mind worms”.

Obviously, naming things was not their strong suit. In fact, it scribbled “find a better name for it later” among the notes for the latter.

Well, at least they knew it, too.